


nothin' good comes from late night thinking (don't you know it's that gloom boy season?)

by s0dafucker



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Frotting, House Party, M/M, Smut, angst n smut, bottom geoff, dont we love a good house party, handjob(s), looks like it has depth n problematic shit on the tin; is actually shameless feel good porn, non con voyeurism but not really, not really angst just a little bit of pining otto, probably a little ooc lmao, top awsten, unrequited but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0dafucker/pseuds/s0dafucker
Summary: otto's sick of geoff and awsten being all over each other (except when he's not)





	nothin' good comes from late night thinking (don't you know it's that gloom boy season?)

the bass of some trap song is thumping through the floor and otto watches the ceiling fan with tired eyes. the ac has been humming downstairs for hours, but his room stays uncomfortably warm; his skin feels suffocating even lying on his back doing nothing. he wonders when jawn will decide it’s late enough for everyone to go home. 

he rolls over, restless; he’s not feeling the party shit tonight and he doesn’t know why. sure, he’s never been that into it- drinking and everything isn’t his scene- but hanging out and kind of drinking in the atmosphere is usually nice. maybe it’s because it’s his house. his house, his room where he can go hide when geoff and awsten start to make out on the couch. his couch. 

otto sighs. 

awsten is stupidly straight-edge, but geoff getting tipsy off jawn’s cheap tequila and sitting in his lap is apparently fine by him- he was tugging on awsten’s hair and kissing up his neck, awsten’s cheeks turning bright pink, and they were giggling and it was so disorienting,  _ awsten blushing-  _ otto fucking bolted. he wishes it was the first time.

at first he figured he was jealous of them- weeks ago he sat in class trying to work out how he got so lonely the sight of his friends holding hands got him so pissed off, but the feeling persisted until he laid awake in the dark realizing he was pissed because they were being cute and couple-y and whatever without him. 

and now he’s watching the headlights pass outside through the blinds and trying to decide if going back downstairs is worth it. he doubts anyone’s noticed he’s gone, (with the exception of jawn, who’s the only one that knows the jist of the whole thing and probably watched him leave) but it would be nice to get out of his head for a bit- he can’t think of anything but geoff and awsten and it’s getting under his skin. 

he gets up and washes his face in the bathroom sink, steps creaking on the hallway floorboards. it helps, kind of. warm water is comforting, and it helps him chill out. he avoids his own gaze in the mirror, opting out of the late night soul searching he knows would make this party a cinematic masterpiece.

he decides it’s not the worst idea to just sit in his closet and listen to mcr like he’s 15- it’s not productive or anything, but it’s nostalgic and gay and he’s settled amongst piles of old jackets and pulling up the black parade on spotify when there’s a thump against his door; he opens his mouth to tell jawn he’s fine, but then the knob rattles, the hinges creak, and he can hear laughing and the fabric scuffling sound of people too close together- ‘shit- shit, this is otto’s room, we can’t-’ 

it’s awsten. otto looks through the slats of his closet door to check, (he tells himself that’s what he’s doing, even though he’d know that voice anywhere) and his heart pounds in his ears- geoff pulls back from awsten long enough for the blue-haired boy to pick him up as best he can. it’s sloppy and probably not comfortable, but geoff just laughs and clings to him tighter. ‘he’s not here, so it doesn’t matter,’ he presses kisses to awsten’s neck, makes him wobble on his feet. ‘wish he was.’ 

awsten chuckles and otto’s heart leaps into his throat. his phone is lying long forgotten on the floor, earbuds tangled, and he can’t look away. awsten tosses him down on the bed-  _ otto’s bed-  _ and he gasps when awsten’s mouth meets his neck. awsten starts to talk, voice like otto’s never heard it, dark and velvety and muffled slightly by geoff’s skin; ‘you’d love that, wouldn’t you? somebody else helpin’ me fuck you?’ geoff whines and otto presses his hand against his mouth to stifle the noise that draws out of him. geoff’s head is thrown back on the pillows, (otto’s pillows!) pushing his neck into awsten’s mouth. otto’s so fucking warm, fingers digging into whatever fabric is lying on the ground, heat coiling in his stomach as he watches.

‘y-yeah,’ geoff bites his lip. ‘god, want you guys to fuck me s-’ he cuts himself off, crying out, and otto thinks awsten bit him, watching the way geoff’s grip on the sheets tightens. ‘so bad,’ otto shifts, trying to stay quiet and ease the tightness in his jeans.

‘bet he’d love to see you like this,’ he can hear the grin in awsten’s voice. ‘all cute and horny.’ geoff squirms underneath him and even in the low light otto can see that he’s bright red. he palms himself through his jeans; he registers dully that he must be crossing some sort of line, but awsten rolls his hips against geoff’s and his low, strained ‘fuck-’ pushes otto’s fingers to his zipper. 

he thinks for a second that awsten’s eyes flash in his direction, as he finishes pulling his pants down to his thighs, but then the moment passes and his mouth is on geoff’s collarbones, his face sharp in profile. he murmurs something otto can’t hear, but the cadence is warm and reassuring and geoff makes a soft affirmative sound in response. 

awsten leans back on his heels and fumbles with geoff’s jeans, tugging roughly- geoff lifts his hips off the mattress to help him and awsten chuckles softly once they’re around his knees; geoff opens his eyes and murmurs, ‘oh, fuck off,’ shaky and bordering on a whine, which only makes awsten laugh more. 

‘i like that you’re so ready for me.’ he says, voice low. he traces the wet spot on geoff’s boxers and he gasps, back arching into his touch and knuckles white. otto’s eyes flutter shut, bucking into his hand and trying to fix that image in his mind forever.

when he opens them again he’s watching awsten work his cock out of his jeans, clumsy and wanting; it’s quiet for a moment besides the shuffle of fabric and their shallow breaths, and then awsten lifts his hand to his mouth and spits. geoff wrinkles his nose and awsten laughs, a little amused huff. ‘what, you wanna be picky?’ 

he wraps his hand around both of their cocks, long guitarist’s fingers wet- geoff moans in earnest and awsten leans down to kiss him again, props himself up on one hand and strokes with the other. otto finds himself mirroring the movement of awsten’s wrist as it takes geoff apart; any shadow of composure or silence he had is melting away under awsten’s ministrations.   

he’s whimpering, bucking up into awsten’s hand, the sound of their labored breathing mixing together- ‘p-please, awsten, fuck-’ spills out, drunk and desperate, and awsten doesn’t seem to mind; ‘yeah, you like that? you like begging for me, baby?’  _ otto  _ certainly likes it- geoff’s voice is sending sparks through him, and he’s trying to keep his eyes open, commit this to memory because he’ll never see it again, one hand flush against his mouth and the other jerking himself off with all the fervor of his first porn. (he really is revisiting 15 tonight, but definitely not the way he planned)

geoff’s pleas are barely coherent, tangling with awsten’s low moans, and otto leans back, not caring about the soft thud of his head against the wall. he’s too far gone to worry about anything but the sound of geoff and awsten fucking in his bed and the tension in his muscles that's been building too long, too fucking long, and he sees white on the edges of his vision. 

he gets his breath back in shallow pants, cushioned barely by the discarded sweaters littering his floor; he can hear geoff and awsten finish, almost perfectly in sync. (he looks back as awsten’s nutting, geoff with his fingers tangled in his hair and fondly watching him cum all over his shirt) 

they kiss, wet and tired and smiling, and the heavy corduroy-coat-in-the-middle-of-summer shame settles in around otto. the high of getting off to the two people he has a thing for  _ fucking in his bed  _ is fading, replaced with the reality of the situation, and he’s preparing to lock himself inside for a lifetime of self-hatred when awsten’s voice cuts through his bullshit. 

‘hey, otto? come on up here, man.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> my hobby: writing the tops everyone thinks r bottoms and the bottoms everyone thinks r tops  
> i live for the controversy
> 
> u can totally tell i pussied out of making this icky At All bc i love pure good nice polyparx™  
> everythings consensual and everyones in love


End file.
